You already knew everything there was to know – their questions were the only thing that kept you alive. Barely living inside the grey citadel of knowledge – it became an addiction, to tell your stories, to slip off the veils, to unravel the mysteries. You had to let them know everything. Everything and more.

When I read the lines of the profile a chill went up — not down — my spine:

She was pure information; her body a library, her spinal column a crystal staircase of knowledge, each of her cells precisely arranged volumes of methodologies, treatments, laws & technologies. It was all waiting inside her, wheels and triangles, logics and semiotics, engines and nanochips, senates and parliaments, the intricate lattices and spindles of invention, shining with the oil of tasks undone. She burned with the gray, heatless fires of thought. She was an idealist, she would not be censored. She did not believe in playing favorites, it was a matter of principle with her.

In all candor, I don’t know what to think of this. But it gave me a serious shiver, a feeling as though a very heavy mantle had just been laid over my shoulders.